


Skulking & Sulking

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [27]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Depersonalization, Fear of Discovery, Glory Hole, Humiliation, M/M, Mild Kink, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: The waiting is the worst part. Mitch sits cross-legged on the floor, in the dim, dingy light, staring at the hole in the wall.





	

**Author's Note:**

> KINKtober Day 23: Glory Hole

The waiting is the worst part. Mitch sits cross-legged on the floor, in the dim, dingy light, staring at the hole in the wall. Hoping. Waiting. Anxiety threatening to choke him. Coming in here was risky, but to leave without an experience he craves would be worse than being caught, he thinks. Unless he’s caught by the police or something. He feels a little sick at the idea. His breath quickens until he’s lightheaded.

Finally, just when Mitch is about to give up and sneak out of this gross bathroom in the middle of nowhere, he hears the door open. Heavy footsteps walk into the next stall. Mitch scrambles to his knees and puts his hand at the hole tentatively, before he can chicken out.

The man unzips his pants. It sounds loud and echoey in the tiny bathroom.

Mitch is still panting hard, almost shaking with nerves. He curls two fingers through the hole. He waits. He breathes, “Please.”

After an eternity that was probably only a few seconds, the man in the other stall comes to him and sticks his cock through the hole. He’s not fully hard yet, but Mitch slumps with relief and immediately starts stroking him.

He adds his mouth after a moment, carefully tasting the head and pushing down to spread his spit along the shaft. He feels the cock thicken and harden in his mouth and moans.

This prompts the man into action; he begins rocking forward and back, short little thrusts. Mitch takes the hint and settles in a comfortable position on his knees. He holds still with his face up against the metal wall and his mouth open wide, waiting. Ready.

The man takes charge and fucks into Mitch’s mouth with abandon. Mitch has to fight not to back away when the cock hits the back of his throat, but he clings to the bottom edge of the stall partition and lets his body relax, submitting to the force of the intrusion.

Mitch can hear the man grunting. The partition shakes on its bolts with each thrust as his body pushes against it.

“Nghh. Yes,” the man groans. “Take it, slut.”

Mitch sighs and closes his eyes.

He means nothing to this man. He’s nothing more than a mouth. A hole. His own pleasure is irrelevant; his left hand rests along the inseam of his jeans, palm pressed to the hard curve of his cock, but there’s no urgency. Not while he’s being used. The man in the next stall doesn’t care.

“Y’like that?” the man asks gruffly. “Little slut.”

Mitch moans an affirmative. This doesn’t even take skill. He’s just a mouth, pliant and open for use. The man doesn’t know who he is. No one in this town knows who he is. No one will ever know who he is because here in this bathroom, he’s nothing. It doesn’t matter that he wants to please; it doesn’t matter that he wants to give himself over, submit to someone, trust them with his whole being. Because here, they can just take and take and take, and they’ll never care as long as they can use him. As long as they come.

He loses track of time. His jaw aches and his knees are sore. It doesn’t matter. The man is groaning again, growling with each thrust. He comes without warning, forcing his cock deep into Mitch’s mouth and holding it there. Mitch can’t breathe. It doesn’t matter. The man pulls back and coats Mitch’s tongue and lips in come before thrusting in again. He holds there until he finishes, until Mitch’s mouth is too overstimulating.

The cock disappears and Mitch hears him wiping himself off with toilet paper. Zipping up his pants.

Mitch lets the come drip out of the corner of his mouth and slide down his chin as he sprawls back on his ass on the dirty floor. It doesn’t matter. He’s just as dirty, now.

He leans back against the opposite side of the stall and breathes hard. It feels like he’s just run a mile. His body is exhausted. He waits for the man to finish up in the bathroom, clean up in the sink. He waits for the heavy footsteps to retreat, for the door to open and close again. And then he’s alone.

He can’t stay here. He has to clean himself up too, and get out of this bathroom without anyone seeing him. Not that they’d notice. Not that they’d care. Nobody knows him here. That’s the way he likes it.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
